


Burned

by Jatzsmik



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Broken, Burns, Explosion, Gen, Jerks galore, M/M, Matt-Centric, MattxMello if you squint, Meeting, Mostly Canon Compliant, My interpretation on the M & M remeeting, Resentment, Revenge, mafia, rubble - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jatzsmik/pseuds/Jatzsmik
Summary: Everyone has emotions, feelings, and reasons for what they do. Some are stronger, more raw than others, but the stupid reasons and justifications remain all the same, as obvious as the sun in the sky at midday.Matt simply no longer understood Mello's. Probably never would.





	Burned

He should have stayed put. 

It was obvious to him now, as sirens blared and wood crackled. Stone fell. And yet, here he was, sitting a block away from the ruined building, feeling like the biggest moron in the world.

Small pits of flame still roared at the edges of his vision, reflected precariously in the sides of the glass attached, forever, to his face. And yet, even as the wreckage practically slapped him in the face, all Matt could do was slowly take another drag of his cigarette, relish the burn at the back of his throat as the smoke coated his throat, and shake his head. 

“Damnit, blondie…” he leaned back into the chair, the leather creaking in protest. The smoke swirled up until it hit the roof of the car, then slowly dissipated. Matt almost swore he could see words form in the vapor. 

Shouldn’t have reacted to the gut impulse to finally track down the bastard almost a week ago, huh? Best to have left bygones be bygones. 

Hatred, birthed from betrayal and the ashes of trust, had simmered down to disinterest over the years. 

Another drag. Another burn. 

When the blondie bastard had left, Matt had felt resigned and almost a bit hopeless. He’d felt abandoned, even though he intellectually knew that it wasn’t his fault, or really, even anything to do with him. That last portion of insight could have been something he’d have been better off not realizing, but – damn his big brain – he couldn’t help it. 

And with that inference, had come a fresh wave of emotions. Namely, indignation.

What, had he not been worth staying for? Or at the very least, being given a way to contact him? No. Apparently, years of friendship and wiping each other’s tears away had meant nothing. Years of joking with each other and swapping places in detention just for the hell of it was meaningless. Little actions and reactions – stealing chocolate, deleting data, spiking chocolate, smashing cartridges – came to a grand measure of zero, apparently. 

He didn’t blame Mello, the jerk that he was, for not thinking much of him, but damnit, that didn’t mean it hadn’t left a mark on the redhead. Matt let the smoke from his cigarette escape out his mouth as he stared at the broken building, no doubt littered with broken bodies and promises, only to breathe back in the same smoke as it rose to his nostrils. The tingling feeling behind his neck was worth trying to be patient enough to inhale slowly.

He didn’t want to be swept aside like some sort of day old bread. 

Usefulness and friendship never merited that sort of treatment. 

Especially when combined.

Another pull of air through the filtered end. The smoke cooled a bit in his mouth, before Matt breathed in a second time to pull it down lower, into his lungs. The feeling of warmth and almost safety ensued. He had always liked this portion of smoking, the illusion of home.

For nearly a year, he’d fumed. Yelled at the air, at anyone who dared to approach him. 

This was stage one.

Stage two of Matt’s resentment and grief was withdrawal. He retreated away from the others, from people in general, and further into the virtual world. Real people weren’t worth it. He’d thought he’d learned his lesson the first time around, but apparently, being a genius did not trump his more asinine qualities. Used to imagine Mello was a video game character he needed to overcome to get to the next level. 

That desire never truly left him, just mutated into a monster he wasn’t sure how to control. Matt pressed the cigarette to his lips once again, idly wondering where he should pick up the next pack.

Breath in. In again. Hold. And Exhale. 

Matt had never been a creature of rage, or sorrow – or even joy. He was one of equity. Of give and take. Of equivalence and exchange. It made sense to him that, because Mello had essentially killed him, he should at least try to kill the bastard back. It was only fair.  
But, of course, Blondie had taken even that away from him by blowing himself up first. 

How…poetic.

Matt scanned the building site again, taking not that there were no police cars in the immediate vicinity. Odd, but he supposed that Mello had kept the cops well paid to ignore this particular area. That’s the kind of shit the Mafia does, right? Bribes and guns and sex and explosions?

He laughed. 

Explosions. Definitely. 

Even so, knowing that he was here for nothing, Matt decided he felt cheated. He’d come to, at the very least, give Mello a piece of his mind and finally finish moving on, but, apparently, all his noble enterprise had merited was a big fucking ‘you’re too late’ sign written in words of fire, smoke, and rubble. 

And damn, did it sting. 

It burned, somewhere on that invisible limb. The one that you don’t know is there until it feels like acid is dumped over your chest.   
Even if the jerk was dead, Matt though he deserved to say that to his face. Mello never was one to understand things like this unless they were spelled out – fucking egocentric jerk – couldn’t see beyond his own nose when emotional pain was involved. He intended to be a pair of glasses.

Matt’s leg gave a jerk as he set pressure on it. Musta sat too long. The rubble, burned shell of the building, blazed on. 

With a small clicked, the door to the car opened. It was a beauty. Black leather seats, deep red paint, sleek structure…even a moon roof. Too bad he couldn’t keep it – that is kind of what happened when you hotwired a car from outside a known cop’s house. Not that Matt found himself worried that he’d be caught, but, he knew better than to press his luck too far. Parking said care in front of the station might be just far enough though. Choices, choices. The redhead kicked a pebble, relishing in the small cacophony it caused.  
The harsh ground was uneven under his boots, but that was okay – hell, even ignorable – once he took another drag from the cigarette, letting it dangle between his lips so as to use both eyes and gloved hands in his search for god knows what.

A sign? Closure? Blondie? Death? Relief?

…Hope…?

The word stung him, even as it appeared. 

Hope was never worth it. The aspiration for things that can’t even be classified as a possibility, but are too close to reality to be a dream. You’d think that he’d have learned his lesson and gotten rid of all allusions to the concept after his life – Matt used to be full of hope. He had hoped his brother would wake up. Hoped his mother would come to her senses. Hoped his sister would be found. Hoped that Mello would come back. Hoped, beyond all hope, that tomorrow, things would be better. No more. Not after entertaining the idea of things that would never come to pass had destroyed him. 

Especially after learning that Mello wasn’t coming back. That stung. He’d told the bastard that he could become emotionally attached - the risk and meaning it held for him, but still, Blondie’d never even thought to say a word. For years. That didn’t just sting – it burned.   
The young man wasn’t exactly sure when he started doing more than kicking rocks and scoffing at the bits of human he saw, but eventually, Matt found himself searching through the ashes and piles of rubble for any trace of the person he’d flown halfway across the damn world for. Once, he thought he’d seen blond hair only to scramble over and see it was a torn-up whore’s shirt. He grabbed the stupid thing, curled it into a ball, and chucked it as far away as he could before the jolt of pain kicked in.  
Hope had fucked him over. Again.

So, when he saw another flash of yellowish color peeping out from what appeared to be a blast proofed room, Matt was admittedly hesitant. As if the idea of a blast door wasn’t enough to cause hesitation…he apprehension only grew when he noticed a mutilated body not too far from the flash and a bloodied gas mask perched on top of a ruined computer set up. Reminded him loosely of a scene from a zombie game he’d played the other day. Whoever had rigged this place did a damn good job.

The first thing he noticed was blood. Blood and leather. 

And a piece of wood, still quietly smoldering away, but that was less important compared to the leather. At first glance, Matt thought this body belonged to another hooker – much like the form he’d seen not too far away from the false alarm – but he was pretty sure most Mafias didn’t employ male whores. Granted, a mafia that Mello was in might be different, as the blond tended to have a certain effect on most people, but it was still doubtful. Add that, to the slightly crushed activator not even half a meter away from an outstretched hand…well, there wasn’t much doubt in Matt’s mind that whoever this guy was…he wasn’t a mere orifice. 

Bending down to look at the device was a stretch, but he managed to do so silently. It was a pretty good piece of work, even though it was pretty much fried, and Matt could say with almost absolute certainty that this was the device that set off the explosion. He paused in his search, deciding that the dude was a bit important and probably worth taking a second look at. Plus. Leather. Leather was generally something that people stared at more than once.

He laughed. 

Full out, couldn’t breathe, drop-the-cigarette-on-the-ground, hysterical laughter. Since when did Mello wear leather?

The bloodied shoulder and ripped pieces of shirt – sorry, leather vest, good lord – aside, the bastard appeared relatively unharmed. Of course he was. 

A few paths of fresh blood was all that marred Mello’s face, but even so, it took Matt a few milliseconds to recognize him. He had matured over the years since they had last seen each other. Cheeks had hollowed, lips thinned, brows intensified. He looked older, but, Matt just knew that it was Mello.

And so, he laughed, not even minding that he’d just lost half a good smoke by doing so. It was worth it. How perfect that he happened across Mello, right when he had decided to take a break. Absolutely perfect. 

How brilliant to see the body, lying there with such emptiness that perfectly mirrored the kind of hollow-chested agony Matt had felt when Mello had up and left.

Just as suddenly, the moment left as the blond took a deep breath. Took a breath. 

Breathed, damnit. 

And just when he’d gotten used to the idea of Mello being dead…

…Mello suddenly wasn’t. 

That is how the blond was – unpredictable. Wild. Defiant. Couldn’t be forced down, even if he had the burden of Atlas on his shoulders. Apparently, death wasn’t ready to accept the blond into its arms, so Matt was stuck with him. 

He stared, at Mello’s slightly rising and falling chest, half wishing for it to just stop spontaneously. 

However, even though he wanted Blondie to die, Matt found he couldn’t stand the thought of killing Mello while he couldn’t even defend himself. It wouldn’t be fair.

A small part of him laughed at that. Fair. Who gave a rat’s ass about what was fair or not anymore? Evidently the largest part of the redhead did. It wasn’t right to kill someone while they were unable to fight. Besides, where would the fun in that be? Mello wouldn’t even know why he died. Probably think that he died for his oh-so-brilliant crusade against Kira. He scoffed. 

No, he wouldn’t kill him. But…Matt needed to do something. Something to let him move on; especially with the blondie right here – right in front of him. His gaze wandered back to the smoldering piece of wood.

Then, to the ever so obvious burn on Mello’s shoulder. It was still oozing and angry red – obviously very recent and probably damaged several layers of skin. Even so, Matt couldn’t find it in himself to do anything about it. Still too mad at the idea of the jerk being right in front of him and not able to hear him yell.

It seemed as if the gas mask on the rock had saved the bastard’s face from burning – might have even saved his life. He cast a glance to the object, distain mixing with gratefulness. The leather might have helped in that department too, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, Mello still retained every inch of the good looks he’d grown up with, and in that moment, Matt hated him for it.   
He didn’t deserve to come out of this unscathed. 

A ridiculous part of Matt – the one that had him sitting on his ass for weeks trying to track down the person right in front of him – wanted Mello to hurt just as he had. Wanted him to feel the pain, the torture, the agony, the burn, of losing something you valued. Of having a strength turn to a detriment. Of feeling rejected. 

Words were at the tip of his tongue in an instant, scalding the very edge of his self-control…

But. Words would never get through to him, even if Mello was awake. 

So, the part searched for a way to leave the blond with a reason to remember all the things he had inflicted on others. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a warning or a reminder, but figured that didn’t really matter. Either way would knock Mello’s ego down a notch or two. Hell knew that he needed to be reminded that he wasn’t only second. Sometimes, he could be third too.

Sometimes, the things you did had consequences. Sometimes, no one would be there to bail you out. 

Sometimes, the things you did could make you be fucking last.

The world didn’t give shit either way.

Matt knew that if Mello felt broken or beat enough, he would try and seek him out. He didn’t want to be the one chasing this time. He was always the one who ran after others, maybe it’d be nice to be chased.

He sat down on the floor -never stand when you can sit and all that - and pulled out a small rectangle, flipping it open as he listened to the raspy, barely audible noise of Mello’s breaths. The DS was not displaying a game, however when Matt opened it. He scoffed a bit. People always underestimated what the simple handheld gaming device could do if someone just took the time to beef it up. Very few people knew how, let alone wanted to. Luckily, the redhead was the person who possessed both the knowledge and initiative to use it.

A few buttons later and a small grin pulled at his lips. 

There, one anonymous note to a certain SPK agent and his part was almost complete. Heh. Just because he’d been staying out of the case didn’t mean he hadn’t kept tabs on people who hadn’t shoved him away. ‘Sides, the best chance of making Mello mad had been to assist Near, so of course he had looked into the option.

Duh. He wasn’t a genius for nothing.

Even then, you didn’t have to be a genius to infer what would drive your so called best friend bonkers. You just needed to be observant. 

Mello had two defining traits: his determination and his vanity. Matt just wanted to take away one. Determination was untouchable, so, obviously, the vanity needed to go.

A grin stretched across his face. 

While the expression betrayed emotion, there was no trace of happiness anywhere. The curve of the upper lip hinted at snark, the flash of teeth: feral. The narrowed eyes – revenge. 

“Just once, boss,” The word tasted of distain on his tongue. Matt could only imagine how spiteful it might have sounded to others. “you’re going to come up with the short end of the stick…” 

Matt slipped the black rectangle back into his pocket before taking two steps towards the wood. All it would take was a quick motion…The redhead acted. He could feel the heat of the still blazing piece of wood through his gloves, but didn’t drop it yet – no, it had a job to do before it became ash. 

Matt never understood what drove Mello to do the things that he did. He’d thought that it was betterment for a while, but then he’d seen the blond do things because he enjoyed them. Mello’s intentions never seemed to fit into a mold. 

His own, however, were pretty fucking simple: To get even. 

With that, the piece of wood fell from his fingers. 

The incoherent scream grated on his nerves almost as fast as the flames licked around Mello’s face: good thing he could feel the barest bit of soothing warmth in the pit of his stomach. 

Revenge wasn’t sweet, no. 

It was satisfying. That was all.

Matt kicked away the burning piece of wood, murmuring a curse as he noticed that some of the bastard’s blood from his newest wound stuck to the toe of the boot. 

Matt found himself almost relishing the whimpers of pain as he walked away. 

In his mind, he toasted to a job well done and lit another cigarette


End file.
